


twilight

by chikoo



Series: chikoo's au snippets! [3]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Night At the Museum AU, courtier seonghwa, dokkaebi woosan, gumiho yeosang, i love this au so much just say the word and ill write so much more for it omg, night guard joong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23394295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chikoo/pseuds/chikoo
Summary: "Everything in the museum comes to life at night!"
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Series: chikoo's au snippets! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682722
Comments: 15
Kudos: 101





	twilight

**Author's Note:**

> listen i can write a thesis on why the night at the museum films are god tier.

“Oh wow, you’re like, really prepared.”

The day guard blinks at Hongjoong, squinting at the massive cup of coffee in one hand, the laptop cradled in his other, the backpack strapped to his back that almost engulfs his small frame, and the flashlight, as long as his forearm, attached to his belt. Hongjoong huffs, adjusting one of the straps on his shoulder. 

“Well, this isn’t my first night job. I’ve already downloaded the new season of Brooklyn 99, I  _ am  _ prepared,” he says, brandishing his laptop. Jongho blinks again, slowly, and lifts one shoulder in nonchalance, changing out of his uniform and slipping into casual clothes. Hongjoong absently wonders how Jongho’s arms look even more threatening in a button-up shirt than they did in their shared, security guard uniform. He glances at his own, considerably smaller biceps and tries not to dwell on it. 

“I’ve closed up most of the exhibits, the cafes and the store. I think the East Asian section is open right now, sorry I couldn’t get to it before I clocked out,” Jongho says, gathering his things and pulling on his shoes. 

Hongjoong just hums and puts his stuff down to change into the blue uniform, careful of the way his coffee swishes around. 

“Alright, Imma head out. Good luck, newbie. Try not to get too scared, this place is insane at night.” Jongho stares at Hongjoong with wide eyes and shudders. In a flash, he’s more or less sprinting out of the changing rooms, waving at Hongjoong over his shoulder. 

Hongjoong zips up his pants and squares his shoulders. He’s had night shifts at creepier places before. Absolutely nothing can top the funhouse he worked at during college, he thinks, shivering violently at the memory. 

He gathers his things and walks out, footsteps echoing loudly on the marbled floor. The museum truly is imposing when everyone leaves; darker, beams of moonlight piercing through the glass dome ceiling, any sound blaring loud in the eerie quietness. 

But Hongjoong kind of likes it. He’s spent his entire childhood coming here, knows it like the back of his hand. But there’s something about seeing it at night. He likes the strange calmness, likes roaming around the exhibits and looking at them in the dowsing light of the moon. Everything feels so much more real as if there’s some new depth to all the history housed here, seeping into the floor. 

It’s not too dark yet, twilight peering through the windows. He takes a round through the building, checks on all the doors and exits, locks up the remaining exhibits and brightens the lights in some other rooms, for the older exhibits. As he walks away to leave the room, he notices a new exhibit, one he’s never seen before. 

It’s a statue of a man, painted features depicting high, arching brows, elegant eyes and a full mouth. It’s ridiculously beautiful for a statue. The man is wearing a traditional hanbok, the kind that was fashionable for court subjects in the late Joseon dynasty, long hair piled up in a neat half-bun. Hongjoong’s almost surprised to see the inscription identifying the man as a representation of a political advisor, and not royalty itself. He looks at the statue for another moment, till the glistening black paint in the statue’s eyes begins to blur, darken almost and Hongjoong realises that the sun has completely set, the moon hanging high in the sky. 

He shakes his head and walks away briskly. 

The first few hours go by uneventfully. Hongjoong sits at the front desk, sips at his coffee and binge watches the episodes he’d downloaded, taking short rounds periodically and checking on the security measures. Before he knows it, his massive cup is empty. 

Despite his best intentions, a few hours later, he starts dozing off, jerking awake every now and then when Andy Samberg’s loud voice echoes through the laptop. It’s odd, he thinks in a sleep-addled daze, he’s not usually someone who falls asleep during night shifts. He’s been practically nocturnal since high school, which is why he decided to take up work as a nightguard. He doesn’t dwell on it much longer, eyes heavy and mouth relaxed, drifting off easily. 

When he wakes up again, there’s an awful amount of light shining into his face. He yawns and keeps his eyes closed, silently admonishing himself for sleeping all the way through his first shift, all the way till the morning. Then he remembers the cameras, the fact that his boss would know he was sleeping on the job and he wrenches his eyes open. 

There’s bright light everywhere but it isn't coming from outside. He looks up at the glass ceilings and jolts when he sees the speckled night sky. He whirls out of his chair and looks around frantically. The lights all over the building are on, and there’s a strange chattering noise lilting through the main hallway. It’s as if the museum is open, exactly the way it is during the day but, there are no people. 

He jumps out from behind the desk, brandishes his flashlight and picks up his phone, ready to call the authorities. He follows the chattering noises, all the way up the winding stairs and to the exhibition rooms and almost screams in frustration when he hears high-pitched squeals and laughter. 

He can’t fucking believe people sometimes. How in the hell had they managed to break into the museum? 

There are shadows on the wall and Hongjoong watches them in trepidation; he makes out the shapes of what look like men, around his build. He tightens his hold on the flashlight and rounds the corner, entering the exhibition room and coming face to face with the trespassers. 

And freezes. As he gapes at them, he realises that maybe he isn’t as awake as he thinks. 

They’re wearing hanboks, intricately decorated, almost shimmering in the light. But that’s not what’s jarring. There are two men standing so close to each other, it’s like they’re attached at the hip. They’re holding an old, rusty looking broom in their hands, glaring at the third man and Hongjoong’s blood runs cold at the sight of their snarling faces, the long, inhuman teeth gaping out of their mouths. The third man stands in front of them, serene and calm, but there’s something attached to the back of his hanbok, a large, billowing material that fans out like a peacock’s feathers. 

When Hongjoong squints, blinking his eyes rapidly, he realises it’s not a fan. It’s not cloth. It looks like bunched up, thick furry tails.  _ What the fuck.  _

“You can’t have it! And not to clean your damn pedestal, you complete  _ asshole _ . You’ve already taken up most of our territory anyways,” one of the men holding the broom growls, almost petulantly, brandishing the broom like a weapon. 

The second man nods vigorously, eyes wide. “Yeah! What if we plucked out the hair on your tails? Maybe we should do that.” He smirks and his entire face seems to morph into something terrifying, eyes gleaming. 

The man with the tails rolls his eyes. He steps away just a little and raises his eyebrows, as if unimpressed. 

“It was just a question. The mortals never clean here well enough. It’s always so  _ dusty. _ ” He looks at the floor with a sneer on his face. “Maybe I _ should _ have hexed that stupid man, Jongho,” he says, voice full of contempt. 

“Yeosang, I think you mean you should have  _ fucked-” _

And Hongjoong decides he’s had enough. He clears his throat and squeaks a little when the strange creatures turn to look at him. There’s a haunting silence for a moment and Hongjoong’s knees begin to tremble under their intimidating gazes. And then he gets himself together because no, no Hongjoong you are not going to let some strange people, probably cosplayers, furries or something, scare you. 

“Excuse me, if you don’t leave right this moment, I’m going to call the police!” 

There’s an awkward pause and then one of the men starts howling with laughter, throwing his head back and nudging his companion voraciously. He looks back at Hongjoong and smiles and Hongjoong really wishes he hadn’t drunk that much caffeine because there’s no way he isn’t hallucinating the way the man’s face shifts from handsome and cherubic to horrifying, the stuff of nightmares. 

“I’d like to see you try, sweetheart. Are you the new guard? Jongho said there’d be a new one. You can call me Wooyoung!” He says enthusiastically and then frowns. “Hmm, you’re so small, there’s barely any fat on you. Sannie, we should’ve eaten the last one while we had the chance.” 

‘Sannie’ pouts and he looks just as cherubic as Wooyoung, eyes wide and sad. Hongjoong’s getting whiplash just staring at them. He looks towards the other man, Yeosang, and his stomach swoops. Yeosang looks angry, brows furrowed, a mean frown on his face. 

“Were you not told? You should have let us out hours ago. My magic isn’t inexhaustible, I can’t keep opening these cages you keep us in. That’s  _ your  _ job.” 

Hongjoong blinks, mind reeling. 

“Wait, hold on, what the fuck is going on? And maybe this is a little irrelevant but why the hell do you have a tail, how did you glue that on you?” 

Hongjoong regrets his words the second he utters them. He watches in horror as Yeosang’s face transforms, elongates until he’s looking at what is unmistakably a fox’s face, a terrifying, demonic fox, albeit. There’s an image in Hongjoong’s head, a painting he’d seen once in a gallery somewhere of a mythical creature. A fox spirit called a  _ gumiho.  _ As he watches the way Yeosang’s beastly eyes pierce into his and the way he drops to the ground, settling on the floor, Hongjoong feels like he’s experiencing everything in slow motion, can’t move, can’t do anything except stand there and gape at the way Yeosang springs into the air, coming closer and closer, fangs snapping menacingly-

Suddenly, there’s a burst of light and a shrill screech. Hongjoong scrambles back, falling onto his ass and he can’t see anything, vision clouded by something dark. He squints, shakes his head and realises his vision is obscured because there’s someone standing in front of him, dark blue robes hiding him from view. He hears a high-pitched mewling sound and the sound of something dragging on the floor. 

“Seonghwa, what-”

A new voice interrupts Yeosang, coming from the person in front of Hongjoong. Hongjoong looks up and sees long, straight hair, tied up in a half-bun. 

“You know better Yeosang. You are not allowed to harm them. That is what was agreed on.” 

“Fuck, you don’t have to  _ stab  _ me! It’s going to take me hours to heal!” 

The man in front of Hongjoong turns around then and Hongjoong shrieks when he sees the large sword in his hand, dripping with a golden liquid. The man looks at Hongjoong absently and sheaths the sword. Suddenly, Hongjoong recognises him, recognises the arched brows, the hanbok. He’s a museum exhibit. He’s supposed to be a statue of a goddamn political advisor. Hongjoong stares at the sword stares at the man’s dark eyes and his chest feels tight.  _ What in the world is going on? _

“You should have been informed. Jongho likes to play, I’m sorry he didn’t tell you. My name is Park Seonghwa, and you, Kim Hongjoong, are the guardian of a very special museum.”

**Author's Note:**

> [fightmehyuk](https://twitter.com/fightmehyuk)


End file.
